


Charity Case

by burrfication



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Charity worker au, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 20:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16436318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burrfication/pseuds/burrfication
Summary: Alexander Hamilton wants to get someone to donate to his charity. Aaron just wants to get to work on time.aka. Alexander is the world's most annoying incarnation of those charity workers that try and get you to sign up to their scam charities on street corners.





	Charity Case

“Sir! Sir, can I have a moment of your time to help the fight against poverty?”

Burr did not slow his stride. This charity campaigner was a new one. Most of the naive youths with clipboards and brightly coloured t-shirts had learnt not to bother asking Burr for time or money. He never stopped, he never slowed, and he never spoke to them. Today was no different. The only acknowledgement he gave the stranger was to step to the side so he could continue walking forward without colliding into him. He heard the man shouting down the street after him. He ignored it. Burr had places to be, and he had more important things to worry about than the wounded pride of a corporate beggar.

The same man stood outside the train station on his evening commute. Burr had almost forgotten him, but he had not forgotten Burr. His mouth had set into a stubborn line, and he stared at Burr with an almost frightening intensity. Worse, he was clever: when Burr tried to step to the side and keep walking, he stepped with him. Burr stopped. He waited expectantly with an impatient look on his face. When the other man did not take the hint, he said,

“Move.”

“Rude. I’m only trying to start a conversation. Don’t you care that - “

“No,” Burr snapped, and pushed past him. He had a train to catch.

To Burr’s dismay, the same man was there the next day on both his morning and evening commute. Each time, he tried to approach Burr. Each time, Burr rebuffed him. Nothing Burr said or did seemed to discourage him. It did not matter how rudely Burr dismissed or insulted his cause. He would approach Burr at any cost, even if it meant abandoning a much more amenable target. Burr suspected it was a game. He could not imagine a worse job than approaching strangers on the street and telling them about his political views. It was hard to blame the stranger for developing bizarre ways of entertaining himself. When this idea first occurred to Burr, it was enough to make him consider being patient with him. The idea was rejected the very next time he was subjected to the words “excuse me, sir!”, and did not return. It was much more satisfying to dwell on his own irritation.

After a full month of harassment, Burr bought a set of headphones. He hated them. They were large and clunky and did not at all fit his neat corporate aesthetic, but they would at very least send a message. Dismay spread over the stranger’s face at the sight. It was enough to bring a smug smile to Burr’s face. His satisfaction only grew when the same tactic worked on his way home. Feeling very pleased with himself, he started the next morning with a spring in his step. He even smiled at the stranger on his way out. The stranger flashed a grin back. He lifted his hands and signed the words

“Sir, can I have a moment of your time?”

Burr tripped up the last step out of the station. The headphones fell off. As Burr tried to grab them, he dropped his bag and watched in horror as his belongings scattered across the ground. When he looked up, the stranger was almost doubled over laughing. He flushed hot with rage and embarrassment. Before he could say anything, the other man started picking up Burr’s things. He handed them back with a cheeky grin.

“If I’d known that was all it would take to get you to stop, I’d have tried sign language weeks ago.”

“Don’t expect it to work again,” Burr told him. They walked half a block together, bickering about different methods the stranger could use to distract him.

“I have to turn back,” he said at the corner, “but you should stop more often.”

“Unlikely,” Burr said, and left him standing there at the corner.

A few weeks later, the stranger vanished. Burr found himself oddly disappointed when he left the station to find it there was no one waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He was even more alarmed to see a new stranger standing where his charity worker should be, wearing the same bright blue t-shirt. The new stranger grinned at him.

“Alexander says hi.”

“I don’t know any Alexander,” Burr said, and kept walking.

When his charity worker returned three days later, Burr had to stop himself from staring. There had always been heavy shadows under his eyes, but the dark bags there were much worse than normal. His sleek hair hung oily and bedraggled around his face. He looked exhausted, but at the sight of Burr he drew himself up to his full height. There was enough outrage on his face that Burr actually stopped to hear what he had to say.

“I can’t believe you spoke to Laurens. It took me weeks to get you to talk to me, and you talk to him on his first day?”

Burr was utterly befuddled for a full five seconds before he made the connection. “You’re Alexander.”

“Alexander Hamilton,” the man nodded. “And you are?”

“Late for work,” Burr answered, and slipped away before Alexander could complain.

Whether or not Burr appreciated Alexander’s eternal presence in his life, he could not deny the man was persistent. He was there in the height of summer, using his pamphlets as a fan. He was there in autumn, wearing the same damn t-shirt but swapping out his water bottle for a travel mug. It was not until the depths of winter that he caved and started wearing a coat, but it did nothing to dim his enthusiasm. Rain or shine, Alexander could be reliably found at the station entrance. Sometimes Burr would slow down enough to bicker with him, but most of the time he walked past with a cheerful “Not today, Alexander!”

Even when Burr worked late, Alexander would be there. When Burr suggested he should take some time off, Alexander insisted he would do no such thing until he had a job with an annual salary. Burr could not argue with that, so he kept walking.

He was so used to the sound of Alexander’s voice calling ‘sir’ (or ‘asshole’ or ‘sexy’, if it was late and Alexander had been drinking) that Burr was not at all prepared for the sound of his own name. When he heard the words “Aaron Burr, sir!” he stumbled and nearly fell. He stared at Alexander in astonishment.

“How did you know my name?”

“You’ve got a name tag on,” Alexander said, and pointed at Burr’s chest. Burr looked down. Sure enough, his name tag was still on, proudly announcing his name and title to the various lawyers, politicians and media personalities that had spent the day visiting his workplace - and, it seemed, to everyone on the street. A wince stole across his face. He unpinned the name tag from his chest and tucked it into his bag.

“Does this mean I can call you Aaron, now?”

Burr snorted. “I hardly think my opinion is going to stop you. It’s never stopped you before.”

“As you say, Mr Burr, sir.”

Somehow, Alexander managed to make his full name sound more condescending than his given name. Burr laughed. Even after the months they had known each other, he still found himself surprised by Alexander’s ability to be contrary. Perhaps his surprise was unjustified. For all they saw each other every day, Alexander was still a stranger to him. Alexander had only just learnt his name. The thought disturbed Burr more than he liked to admit, and he made a quick exit.

He actively avoided Alexander the next morning, taking a different route out of the station to dodge his post. Burr was conflicted. He had half a dozen half-formed thoughts and impulses, and the last thing he wanted was to act on them without giving them due consideration. By that same evening, he had made up his mind. He watched Alexander’s face light up as he walked towards the station. The sight brought a smile to Burr’s face and further strengthened his resolve.

“I missed you this morning, Burr.”

“If I give you my number,” Burr said. “Can you promise I won’t end up on some socialist mailing list?”

“Oh, we’re not socialists. We’re anarchists,” Alexander said cheerfully. “We’ll also need your email, and - “

“I’m not interested in your charity,” Burr interrupted. He took great pleasure watching Alexander’s face shift from confusion to flushed anticipation. Burr’s lips curled up into a smug smile. “I think it’s time we had a proper talk. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Whatever you like, sir,” Alexander said. There was a playful grin on his face, and Burr spared a moment to consider how much teasing of the sort he would have to endure for Alexander. To his surprise, the thought did not bother him. His encounters with Alexander had been the high point of his day for months. If a little teasing was the price he had to pay to have something more, then that was a bargain Burr was willing to make.


End file.
